


At the End of Every Road

by non_tiembo_mala



Series: At the End of Every Road [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Memory Loss/Confusion, PTSD and recovery, Virgin Steve Rogers, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-18 16:18:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/pseuds/non_tiembo_mala
Summary: Steve Rogers is making the best of it, being alive in this century, constantly playing catch up, and trying to find a way to feel at home. He figures he's managing okay, all things considered.Then his best friend comes back to life.---Bucky Barnes has endured more than enough for multiple lifetimes, though his own was robbed from him back in 1945. Now, with the help of some Wakandan technology and its princess' genius,  Bucky's been given the closest thing to a fresh start that he could ever hope for.Step one? Sorting through the mess of his memories to figure out what's real, what's not, and most importantly, what he and Steve really are to each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jameee25](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jameee25/gifts).



> Welcome to my Steve/Bucky playground, y'all! This is the series wherein I will write all the stories I want to tell about these two in a canon-adjacent timeline which splits after the events of Civil War and Thanos will never come to be (because seriously fuck that guy! *waves middle fingers*). I have no less than 10 episodes sketched out for this verse and my life is all over the fucking place but I swear to god I will tell these tales if it kills me. 
> 
> Tags will be updated with each additional work.
> 
> Gifted to my far away love, my pal, my buddy, my Bucky ❤️
> 
> (who also happens to be my beta, my enabler, cheerleader, and handholder)
> 
> The title of this work/series comes from Chris Cornell's _Our Time in the Universe_. It's my ultimate anthem for Steve and Bucky, living their best life together right here, right now in the present, everything that's happened to them be damned.

“Your mom’s name was Sarah,” Bucky offers, voice rough, then his expression shifts and he smiles on a silent laugh. Steve can hardly breathe at the sight of it after all this time, his heart a lump in his throat as Bucky continues. “You used to wear newspapers in your shoes.”   
  
He looks up at Steve, his smile making creases at the corners of his eyes, teasing him it like it was yesterday, and just like that, Steve feels more like himself than he has since they woke him up, seen, and real, and just as hopelessly in love as always.

 

\---

 

They don’t get a lot of time alone. Steve hates it because all he wants is Bucky all to himself but he’s also grateful. There’s too much there, too much he wants to say, too much he doesn’t know how. Having Sam around, and then the others – it’s a buffer and a blessing, delaying the inevitable so Steve can try and convince himself he’s got a grip on it before he says or does something stupid. 

Alone in the quinjet, they’re quiet. Steve is grateful for Natasha more than he could ever put into words, not that she’d want to hear them anyway. He knows she thinks he’s a sap. She’s not wrong. It kills him what he just did, fighting his friends, but he can’t ignore his heart. He knows what he has to do, even if Tony refuses to see it. 

Once they’re clear, finally at a distance Steve is sure they’re not being followed, he lets his eyes drift back to Bucky. He’s quiet and withdrawn, lost in his own head. He’s Steve’s Bucky alright, but he’s worn down like Steve’s never seen him before. Bucky might be the only person alive who can truly relate to him, but he’s been through things and suffered in ways Steve can’t even begin to wrap his head around. He feels it like a crushing pain in his chest. 

There’s so much, too much for the confined, limited space they’re sharing in a heavy, weighted silence. Steve doesn’t know how to talk to him, doesn’t know what to say, to his  _ best friend _ , and it’s killing him. 

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve,” Bucky says, forlorn, and it’s as though all the air has been sucked from Steve’s lungs. Hearing his name in Bucky’s voice is the closest thing to  _ home _ he can think of, but hearing him say that... Steve wants to unbuckle himself from the seat and climb out of it, get down on his knees at Bucky’s feet.  _ Everything, you’re worth everything, Buck _ , he wants to say.  _ Doesn’t matter what I have if I don’t have you, nothing ever did. _

The words catch in his throat, just fragments of all the things he can’t say. He swallows them down, like always, just like before, and glances back at Bucky over his shoulder, talks about the Winter Soldier instead. 

The rest of the journey is filled with silence, and Steve sits still through all of it, eyes on the clouds, but inside his mind races. How can he help, what will they do after, when Zemo and the other soldiers are no longer a threat? Memories, so many memories, things he hasn’t let himself think about in 70 years, brought to the surface with Bucky’s resurrection and made impossible to ignore by his presence, close but still impossibly far away.  He’s been so caught up in this new life, everything he’s trying to catch up on, and suddenly, with Bucky, none of it seems to matter. There’s so much going on and so much at stake but with Bucky, Steve’s life finally seems to stand still long enough he feels like he has some sure footing. 

Standing at the back of quinjet waiting for the ramp to lower, Steve can’t keep his mouth shut. He wants to connect, wants to bring Bucky back, let his friend remember himself instead of thinking about all the stuff he’s done. 

“You remember that time we had to ride back from Rockaway Beach in the back of that freezer truck?”    
  
When Bucky turns towards him, narrowing his eyes as he thinks back, all Steve sees is the one person who was there for him without fail, even when he had nothing. All he sees is the person worth all of this and more. 

“Was that the time we used our train money to buy hot dogs?” He laughs a little as he remembers, and Steve is so relieved. His Bucky, he still can’t believe it. 

“You blew three bucks trying to win that stuffed bear for a redhead,” he says before he can stop himself, and groans internally. He was jealous then and he’s still jealous now, Jesus. Some things never change, apparently. Bucky’s smile, for instance. 

“What was her name again?” He grins, wincing almost, maybe because he can’t remember, maybe because he knows Steve will. Steve’s stomach swoops. 

“Dolores. You called her Dot.” Steve curses himself as he says it, hopes he doesn’t sound so obvious. Bucky just nods in agreement, like it sounds right. Then he’s shaking his head. 

“She’s gotta be a hundred years old right now,” he says like a revelation. What wild fucking lives they lead. Steve can’t believe he’s not alone anymore. 

“So are we, pal,” he laughs because it’s true, and it keeps the waver out of his voice when he reaches over and grabs Bucky’s shoulder. It’s the kind of touch they shared all the time growing up, reassuring, but in this moment it’s the first time Steve has touched Bucky – not fought the Winter Soldier – and he’s terrified he doesn’t know how to let go. 

Bucky smiles at him, laughs with him, and it’s not helping Steve as he tries to stay focused on their mission, but then the ramp sets down in the snow-covered rock, thankfully breaking the moment. Back to work.

 

\---

 

Steve nods to T’Challa with a small, grateful salute and the king waves a hand in return before holding it over his heart and then taking his leave to go to his own aircraft. The ramp automatically raises once he’s clear, closing the quinjet and preparing the take off sequence, destination Wakanda. 

The quinjet is warm, and the hum of the engine is familiar and welcome white noise to compete with the ringing in Steve’s head. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, lets his lungs expand, and then groans softly at all the aches. Everything hurts. 

There’s a thunk from back inside the plane and Steve doesn’t hesitate as he moves through the pain. Bucky’s trying to sit up from where Steve had laid him down, but the overhead is low and he’s knocked it, hissing. 

“Buck, what– please, just. Lay down, would ya? Look at you, Jesus,” he rushes over, gets his hands on Bucky’s good shoulder and his chest, tries to guide him down. Steve knows he’ll be okay – they both will – but he’s in such rough shape Steve hurts just to look at him. All that blood on his face, the torn, mangled pieces of his metal arm where it’s been ripped from his body–    
  
“Yeah? And what about you, huh? Like you’re so much better off,” Bucky argues, though he winces as he pushes back against Steve’s hands, his own white-knuckling the edge of the bench as he fights to stay sitting up. “No, thanks. If you’re up, I’m up.”   
  
Steve gawks at him. He’s being ridiculous. “Bucky, c’mon. You gotta–”   
  
“You still don’t know when to quit, Stevie,” Bucky cuts him off with a weary, knowing smile. 

Steve’s words dry up in his mouth. Nobody’s called him that since– well, since the last time Bucky– 

He clears his throat and makes himself laugh. Bucky has always had his number. 

“Alright, alright,” Steve acquiesces. He sighs, defeated, and braces himself against the opposite wall before sliding down it slow as he can manage, finally settling on the floor, feet planted and knees up so he can rest his arms on them. “There. Happy?”   


Bucky’s smile turns smug and he nods, then lets out a long breath as he lies back down. 

“Jerk,” Steve chirps, then eases his head back, letting his eyes close. God, he’s exhausted. 

“Punk,” Bucky shoots back, and Steve smiles. He’s lost so much, everything is so fucked up, but he’s got Bucky. That will always be enough. 

 

\---   
  


He doesn’t really have Bucky after all. Not now. Not yet.

Steve keeps his cool, hides behind the same face he’s worn the last couple years, but truth is he’s a man on the edge. He knows Bucky’s right, but he thought… He shakes his head, embarrassed at himself. He doesn’t know what he thought. Daydreamt, maybe, of doing this together. Fighting side by side. There’s a lot of HYDRA garbage that still needs taking out, threats that merit someone like them, even if Tony can’t stand to look at him right now. If he doesn’t have Bucky then… Steve is going to have to face Tony again, sooner than he would’ve liked. He can’t do it all on his own. 

He watches from the doorway as one of T’Challa’s doctors finishes prepping Bucky for the cryo chamber. When he wanders away, Bucky’s eyes find his and Steve walks towards him, smiling, even though every cell in his body is screaming.  _ No no no no no not again I can’t lose you not again _ . 

“You sure?” Steve asks, just because. It’s easier to believe it has to be done when he hears Bucky say it. The sad smile and weary look in his best friend’s eyes confirms it. If they can scrub the Hyrda programming from his brain, the Bucky he gets back then might not be so crushed underneath the threat of it. 

Bucky holds his gaze, and Steve feels like he’s waiting for something, or looking for it. He’s not sure if he wants Steve to talk him out of it – he doubts it, since they both know this is their best choice – but… 

Steve swallows thickly and reaches for his friend, fingers light on his arm. He opens his mouth to say something but too much wants to come out. Instead, he shuts it again, without saying a word, and just smiles. Bucky nods back at him and finally looks away. 

Steve watches the process. He knows it’s safe, but he can’t help the way his breath catches in his chest when it happens and Bucky’s face is momentarily lost in a cloud of the freezing agent. It’s over in a blink, ice forming on the inside of the glass while Bucky looks as though he’s sleeping, skin unnaturally smooth and pale. 

The doctor nods at Steve and then walks away. Steve steps closer. 

He looks at his best friend’s face because he can, and because the sight of it is the most beautiful thing he knows, balm for his aching heart. Home. They were so goddamn close. 

He reaches out to press his palm to glass, right above Bucky’s heart. 

“If you only knew…” Steve mumbles, just to himself. “Wish I could tell you. Buck…” 

He closes his eyes, locks it all down, and then pulls his hand away. He spares one last, long look at Bucky’s face, then turns and goes to wait for T’Challa. 

 

\---

 

For an old guy, Steve is pretty attached to his phone. Natasha never noticed before. It always used to be his notebook and pencil, adding things to his list or crossing them off. Now it’s his phone. Check. Check check check. 

Natasha has her suspicions. 

He came back to the compound sooner than Natasha had dared to hope, after what happened with Tony. The reunion went better than expected, considering. Things were rocky for a while, sure, and if he was asked – and sometimes even if he wasn’t – Tony would tell you how and when he wanted to punch Steve in his stupid, perfect face, but apparently even Tony can’t stay mad at him for long. 

Things settle. They work, sometimes. The Accords are on a kind of hold, and they’re in a kind of limbo, but their hands aren’t exactly tied. For now, it’s enough. Their hodge podge family of super-human misfits – plus her and Clint, Sam and Rhodie, too – bounces between their compound, the tower in New York City, and wherever their missions take them. 

And in between, Natasha watches. Steve is the same, but different. He’s letting his hair grow out. A beard, too. She’s not sure what happened in that Good Boy brain of his to make him decide to ditch the clean shaven baby face, and Natasha will never tell him this, but it definitely changes his look from grandpa to daddy. Steve wouldn’t quite get it even if she told him, and then when he did, he’d be scandalized. Which come to think of it might actually make it worth her while. 

She smiles at the thought, since antagonizing Rogers is one of her favourite pastimes, and rounds the corner into their kitchen. Steve is leaning against the counter, coffee percolating behind him and his head is down, eyes on his phone. Natasha shakes her head. 

“When did you become a teenager?” She teases accusingly, and Steve looks up at her, eyebrows raised in question. She drops her eyes to his phone as she walks past him to grab the coffee pot. He chuckles around the silent  _ oh _ of realization, fumbling the phone back into his pocket and actually  _ blushes _ . Interesting. Very unlike the almost rigid, guarded reactions of the deliberately private man Steve usually is. 

“Last time I checked, I was pretty far from it,” he offers as an answer, folding his arms over his chest, one hand coming up to subconsciously drag his fingers through his beard under his chin, a new thing he’s started doing since it’s gotten so full lately. 

Natasha rolls her eyes at him and pours her coffee.  

“Nice dodge, Rogers,” she deadpans, even though she’s going to let it go. The blush alone was worth it. 

He shrugs, smiling. 

She keeps her eyes on him as she saunters over to one of the couches, sitting down with her legs tucked underneath her. He watches her back. 

“What?” He finally asks outright, and she shakes her head. 

“Nothing.” She looks at him over the edge of her mug as she takes a sip.

“Uh huh,” he doesn’t buy it, but he’s going to let it go, too. If they’re going to play this game, Natasha will win and he knows it. 

He opens and shuts his mouth quickly, lips pursed in thought before he reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone again. Natasha’s eyes go wide and she lets out a laugh that she cuts off as soon as she sees it,  _ that _ look on Steve’s face. 

“Steve?” She prompts, suddenly serious. He looks up at her, blinking.

“I– I gotta go.”   
  
With that, he keeps his phone in his hand and turns to leave. Natasha stands up. 

“What? Go where? Steve? Steve!” He doesn’t turn around or come back. 

The quinjet is gone, stealth mode is engaged, and Natasha is willing to bet Tony is as of yet unaware. She sure as shit isn’t going to be the one to tell him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky finds a comfort in the hard work of the land. It keeps him busy. Distracted.

When he woke to T’Challa and Shuri standing at his bedside, he hoped it meant he was no longer a danger – not like _that_ anyway – but he could already tell even without even having to ask. He _felt_ different. The Princess looked so excited she could hardly contain herself, wearing a big grin and her brother’s hand on her shoulder as if it might keep her from bouncing there on the spot.   
  
“You did it,” he’d said, taking a big easy breath, his head clear, and it wasn’t a question. Bucky could feel it. He _knew_ .   
  
“Oh yeah, white boy,” she’d answered, laughing and smug. “And then some!”   
  
Turns out Shuri and the medical team at the Palace have technology more advanced than even what Bucky’s seen as the Soldier, and their physicians are much more in tune with mental health and the human brain than any others on the planet. Bucky can’t even begin to try and explain what it is she said they did, but he knows the results. He will never – Shuri assures him – be under anyone else’s control like that ever again. The trigger words mean nothing more to him now than anyone else, all the power they once held over him stripped away completely. But more than that, she says they’ve eased the traumas. His memories are a little hard to sort through, she was sorry for that but Bucky’s not – wouldn’t care if he never remembered anything the Soldier had done – but they’re _there_ , and they shouldn’t set off his autonomic nervous system anymore, safely isolated by whatever tinkering Shuri had done to his neurons. No panic attacks, no sudden paralysis – at least, not from those memories.   
  
“Anything new, you’re on your own!” she’d teased him, but the gentle hand on his arm and the kindness in her eyes told him all he had to was ask.

It seems too good to be true, and if anyone but Shuri was saying it, he’s not sure he’d buy it at all. But the Princess is easily the smartest person alive – as far as Bucky’s concerned anyway – and she’s sincere.

On the rare occasion he’s dared think on something he knows that happened, that the Soldier did under orders, it feels far away, kind of like it happened to someone else and he’s remembering something someone told him about instead of something he lived through. His heart doesn’t race like it used to, and his throat doesn’t feel like it’s going to swell shut and let him choke. It’s… bizarre.

There are some other side effects he notices as well. It feels more like he _just_ woke up. He has all the knowledge of the last century but then he takes a step, hears the distant boom of something in the city, and it’s like the echo of a mortar. Suddenly it’s 1945 and the Howling Commandos are clapping him on the back, rushing past him – _Barnes, get to cover!_   
  
He blinks and it’s gone. Shuri was sympathetic when he told her about it, hummed and hawed.

“You know,” she’d said. “I was so focused on your time as the Winter Soldier, I didn’t even think… those memories are the fresher ones now. You might actually still have some PTSD, only from World War II.”   
  
She’s squeezed his shoulder and offered to go back in, but he’d told her not to worry about it. He’s had enough people poke in his brain – for better or worse – and despite the way these memories _do_ occasionally trigger him, there’s something almost reassuring about it. These are memories of _his_ life, his choices – not the Soldier’s. And Steve is there. A part of him almost wants to relive them, just to be Sgt. James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th again, Captain America’s right hand man. At least– that’s what they’d called him in the Smithsonian.

Thinking about Steve is difficult. Complicated. His stomach gets jittery and his dick gets hard– he can’t sort the memories out well enough to know up from down, real from not real. The one and possibly only thing he knows for sure? He’s maybe been in love with Steve Rogers since he was old enough to string those very words together. They’ve been best friends his whole life, but Bucky can’t… he can’t quite pinpoint if Steve knows it, if they ever–

He remembers himself with different women – a lot of women, if he’s being honest – but he’s never felt a thing for any of them that he feels when he thinks about Steve. Women are nice, he knows he likes them, but _everything_ comes back to Steve.

It’s not hard to remember Steve with the ladies, since there only ever was the one. Agent Carter. Peggy. What a bombshell. Fierce, incredible woman – God, Steve deserves a woman like that, moral fibre just like his, beautiful like him, too. He can see them together, Peggy in that red dress, and it _still_ hurts, 70 years later and halfway across the world. Peggy is a huge part of Bucky’s confusion. He can’t quite place him and Steve, but he can place Steve and her. Everytime he thinks, just maybe–? But then there’s Peggy. It gets foggy at that point, and painful enough that he actually tries not to think about it.

Bucky spends a lot of time trying to discern what they really are to each other but comes to no firm conclusions. He feels like before T’Challa put him in cryo he knew better. Doesn’t remember being confused with Steve when they were hunting Zemo, but he had so much other shit going on then, too. Shuri hadn’t yet worked her magic, so he was constantly wrestling with the mental onslaught of the Soldier’s highlight reel even while Steve was fighting his friends for him, telling him it wasn’t really him doing all that stuff. It had sure fucking felt like it was.

It feels less like it now though, a blessing he can never repay, now forever – happily – in Wakanda’s debt, in Shuri’s debt. But _Steve._

He shakes his head, but it doesn’t help sort anything out. There a things he remembers for sure, so vivid it had to have happened – breaking up fights, pulling Steve up off the ground in familiar alleys, laying on the floor next to him while he cries on the couch like Bucky can’t hear him, like his mom hasn’t just died and left him alone, well, alone ‘cept for Bucky of course – and things he’s a little less sure about – the feel of Steve’s frail hand in his, holding it from the floor, Steve’s arm dangling off the couch, not letting go till he falls asleep, a _look_ on Steve’s face while Bucky’s dancing with some dame – an Eleanor or an Audrey maybe, it never mattered – smudges of charcoal from Steve’s drawings, all over him, on his shirts, maybe – on Bucky, too? But how? He can’t figure out that part. And then, then there are other things. He can see them in his mind but there’s such a shaky quality to it he can’t be sure he’s remembering or _dreaming_. Remembering dreams? And he can’t afford to be wrong about it, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do if he is.

But Steve hasn’t been here. Not yet. Bucky – he needs to be sure. Shuri would’ve called him right then, when he woke up, and Bucky knows Steve texts her constantly checking in, but Bucky asked her to be vague. He needs time, needs to settle, needs to really, honestly believe her that he's free. No more Soldier, no more threat.

So T’Challa sets him up, gives him space to just live, be himself, try to remember who that even is. He could’ve stayed in the Palace, he was welcome, but he didn’t want to be a burden, not anymore. So he has his hut, and he has one arm, and he works in the field. It’s not too hard to learn the work, and the kids are only too happy to show him and tease him while he figures it out. Until he’s sure. Until he’s ready.

 

\---

 

_Peggy is a vision, there’s no denying that. Back in Brooklyn, she’d be every bit the kind of dame Bucky might chase to get Steve out of his head, to forget, to pretend, just for a moment. But here, she strolls into the loud, crowded, darkened bar like she owns the place, and she only has eyes for Steve. Bucky’s heart is in a vice. He knows that look, the one she wears when she finds them, and Steve stumbles to attention in a hurry. Bucky would say it’s just because he’s still not used to the sheer size of himself – fuck, Bucky sure as hell isn’t used to it, probably never will be – but that’s really just Steve. He and Peggy lock eyes and Bucky stands watching like he isn’t even there, unseen by both of them._

_For the briefest moment, he wishes he were back in that room, strapped to Zola’s chair, because it’s probably less painful than finally seeing Steve look like that, just at someone else._   
  
_They’re talking but Bucky can barely hear them over the furious rush of blood pounding in his ears. He tries to make a joke but it falls flat even to himself, so he’s almost relieved neither of them seem to hear him either. His throat is too tight, he can hardly breathe. Actually, he might throw up. His mouth tastes like bile and Bucky makes himself look away, swallowing it down so he doesn’t have to see how beautiful Steve is, awkward and bashful under Peggy’s strong gaze._   
_  
_When she turns to leave and they both stare after her. It’s hard not to, honestly, in that red dress and with those curves. He clings to it, a distraction like every girl before her, if not more desperately so on account of Steve’s lovestruck face.

 _It feels like dying but Bucky loves him so damn much, fuck. He still wants Steve to look like that, happy, seen, even if it isn’t because of him. Tongue-tied and blushing like he’s never been with any girl Bucky’s brought along for him, but then, none of them could hold a candle to Agent Carter. Bucky can’t even blame him. He_ definitely _can’t blame Peggy. If it weren’t for– well, if he were her, Bucky would already know the taste of Steve’s mouth by now, a thousand times over._ _  
_

Bucky gasps and sits upright, clutching at his too-tight chest until he realizes he’s awake. He’s not there, not in France, and he’s only got one arm. He lets go of the front of his nightshirt and puts his one arm behind him, relaxing as he sits his weight back. He sighs, shaky, and groans.

Every time he thinks he has a handle on this, whatever _this_ is, this shit happens. Are they, or aren’t they…? Is that the dream – the nightmare – watching Steve with Peggy, or is the dream that they were ever together? For every image in Bucky’s mind where he holds Steve’s face between his palms and kisses him like he needs him to breathe, there’s another like this, where he can only look at Steve with the fiercest, most unbearable longing. It’s agony, and he can’t live like this, can’t find peace even here, in his private safe haven in Wakanda, not when he’s torn in two. Facing Steve carries with it the chance of everything he’s hoping is real being exactly that, but also the very real possibility that Steve was never his, his dreams and memories mixed up beyond the point of distinction, which would leave Bucky with that same desperate want that’s been plaguing on some level since the moment he laid eyes on Steve, still as the Soldier, and first heard him say that name, _his_ name – _Bucky_ . But at least he would know for sure, if he knew where they stood. He could navigate it with a purpose, relearn how to be _just_ Steve’s friend, if that’s all he gets to be.

  
Bucky sighs again, resigned, and pushes his sleep-mussed hair back out of his face before digging under his pillow for the phone Shuri gave him. He doesn’t let himself think about, just sends her the text before he can change his mind.   
  
_Get Steve_. 


	3. Chapter 3

The flight to Wakanda feels like the longest of his life. Steve stays strapped into his seat only to keep himself from pacing the tiny space inside the quinjet, wearing a track in the damn metal. His stomach is a constant mess of knots the whole while. He feels like that sixteen year old kid in Brooklyn again, antsy every time he and Bucky were apart, nervous and out of his mind when they were together, in love with his best friend, close but never close enough. 

He had a handle on it, had learned how to keep it together for the most part, over the years. But now, on his way back to Bucky,  _ his _ Bucky, presumably free of the Soldier now that Shuri’s called him, Steve feels as though he’s forgotten everything but how desperately he wants to see him, and, God, hug him and never let go.

He’s all jitters as he lands the jet, sure that he looks like it, too, but stepping out of it to find T’Challa smiling at him, Steve relaxes a little. A familiar face, easy conversation, someone who knows he’s here for Bucky – not like the rest of the Avengers back at the tower, all of whom Steve had refrained from telling about Bucky for their safety and for his – helps calm him. 

If T’Challa can tell Steve isn’t quite himself, he doesn’t say anything to indicate it, only quirks his lips in a knowing sort of way that makes Steve’s cheeks pink a little when Steve asks in a barely contained rush, “how is he?”   
  
“He is doing well, as far as I know,” T’Challa answers calmly as they start to walk together away from the jet. Steve’s confusion must show on his face because T’Challa chuckles before he continues. “I am not sure if he wanted to be the one to tell you this, but he has been out of cryo for some time now. Shuri is confident he will never be the Soldier again, but he felt he needed time to be sure.”   
  
Steve nods. That makes sense, of course it does. But his stomach knots tightly anyway while his brain scrambles over frantic  _ how long _ s. 

“I think also your Bucky needed a chance to settle into the person he is now. He is the man he was during the war with you, but he’s also a man who’s been alive the last 70 years, watching as if only an observer as the world changed around him, and he was alone. Alone is what he knows.”   
  
Steve’s heart skips a beat when T’Challa says  _ your _ , easy as anything, without implication or assumption, just a simple acknowledgement of something far too complex for even Steve to understand. The rest hurts. Steve is a mess inside, desperate for the Bucky he knew, the one T’Challa says he  _ is _ now, but terrified of how to be the Steve that  _ Bucky _ knows after all this time. He’s fought aliens, battled actual gods, and somehow this feels like the hardest thing he’s ever done. 

“Do not be mistaken,” T’Challa continues, reaching to place a reassuring hand on Steve’s shoulder, perhaps sensing his vaguely muted distress. “He asked for you when Shuri woke him. He has asked for you to come now. He is expecting you.” 

  
\---

 

Shuri texts him when Steve is about to land. Bucky knows it could be a while yet before Steve makes his way to him, but the butterflies in his stomach feel like they’re trapped in a sudden windstorm anyway. He could’ve gone to the Palace to meet him but… he’s working up the courage to say things he still hasn’t quite found the words for, and nearly all the time they’ve had together since Bucky started pushing the Soldier away has been among other people. Bucky’s done sharing him, at least for now. At least for this. 

He tries to continue about his day as normally as he can after Shuri’s message, but it’s a sad charade. Every sound makes him jump, spinning towards the distant hill he knows Steve will be walking over. He’s distracted, lost in his thoughts, and it earns him more than one nibble from the goats as he absentmindedly feeds them. Eventually even the kids from the village give up on him, laughing after tossing handfuls of hay at him and waving with their departure. 

He sighs heavily and abandons his chores, succumbing wholly to the reality that his mind at this moment – like his heart, always – has no room for anything but Steve. He wipes his sweaty forehead on the back of his hand, then gives that a pass in the folds of the cotton draped around him as he walks towards the water’s edge. He means to sit down, but he gets distracted before he can do even that, standing with his gaze, unfocused, on the distant landscape.    
  
How is he supposed to– where is he even supposed to start? There is, actually, not another soul on the planet he could ask for help. No one has lived anything even remotely close to his life, not even Steve really, who’s maybe lived the next closest thing. 100 years old but struggling through memories like he’s thirty and still damaged in a way even he barely understands. A part of him knows the world has changed but it still seems far away, dreamy in a way that makes it hard to believe it could ever be okay if they–    
  
“Bucky.”   
  
Bucky spins on the spot, startled by his name, the sound of Steve’s voice. His cheeks burn instantly, embarrassed to have not heard him approach – some fucking assassin he is – and for Steve’s tone, a little broken, a little breathy, a little forced. 

His tone might be confusing, making Bucky’s stomach twist up hard, but Steve’s face is easier to read. He’s smiling so damn big that Bucky’s stomach untwists, flutters, and melts, warm and easy. Steve looks so good, wearing jeans that pull tight across his thick thighs, a grey sweatshirt zipped halfway up his chest over a plain white t-shirt, backpack slung over one shoulder and a ball cap hiding long – longer than he can remember Steve ever keeping it – blonde hair that’s haunted Bucky’s dreams even as the Soldier. And he– he’s got a beard. Bucky’s never seen him with one but it– yeah, it looks– Bucky has to bite his tongue to keep from whistling long and low like he wants to at the sight.

Bucky’s breath is, for a moment, stuck in his chest, then stutters out as he echoes back, “Steve.”

Somehow, Steve’s smile gets impossibly bigger, and he crosses the space between them in just a couple big strides, scooping Bucky into his arms before Bucky can be sure if Steve’s eyes look a little watery or not.    
  
Not that Bucky blames him. He lets his face tuck in against Steve’s neck because it’s the most natural thing in the world. It feels different, with his own beard and Steve’s, but as he gets his arm around Steve’s back and breathes him in– fuck, it–  _ Steve _ – still smells like home. Bucky feels it deep in his bones, and he can’t help how desperately he holds on to it, especially not when Steve is squeezing him so tight it’s almost crushing in the best possible way. 

Bucky tries not to think about how long they stay like that, since it doesn’t seem like Steve is about to let him go either, but eventually Steve does clear his throat on a wet kind of laugh and pulls back, however reluctantly. There’s a flash of something awkward as they look at each now, and Bucky is still left with no more notion as to whether he’s the only one who wants to do more than just hug.    
  


He can’t take his eyes off of Steve’s face, so he doesn’t miss it when Steve’s gaze drops to his mouth, only to flick back up the second Bucky instinctively licks his lips. For the briefest of seconds, Steve almost looks caught out, then one big hand is coming up to grab the brim of his hat, shift it up and down on his head in place of carding through his hair, and Bucky feels like he’s seen Steve do this a thousand times before. His heart aches and heat spikes low in his gut,  _ wanting _ .   
  
“Buck, you– ya look good,” Steve says, giving him a more obvious but somehow safer once over, gesturing at him with both hands, though all Bucky sees is the gaping space between them. “How d’ya feel?”   
  


Bucky takes a big breath, chuckles a little and scrubs a hand roughly over his own beard. 

“Okay?” He shakes his head. “I mean, considering. I–”   
  
He swallows thickly, doesn’t mean to dive right into it, but it’s been consuming him, so he continues.    
  
“My head– my memories– they’re all…” he searches for a word, thinking, waves his hand kind of vaguely. “Kind of jumbled? Mixed up. There’s just a lot, and I– I have questions?”   
  
Steve’s eyebrows raise as his face lights up a little. “I can help with questions. I’ll do my best, anyway. I’ll try. Do anything I can, Buck.”

There’s a sincerity in his expression that makes Bucky feel warm again, and Bucky can’t understand why they haven’t– if they ever before, why would Steve be holding back now? Is it because of everything Bucky’s been through, or is it because they really never…?   
  
“Steve, I…” Bucky holds his gaze, trying to see it, sees it in his mind, feels an echo of the rush, but it’s not  _ clear _ , it’s not enough, and God, Bucky  _ wants _ , that much  _ is _ sure. He takes a step closer as he shakes his head again, brows knit together. Steve doesn’t back away, even though there’s all the space in the world around them and Bucky’s close enough it’s almost strange he’s still keeping his one hand to himself. “I can’t  _ remember _ .”   
  
If he sounds frustrated, it’s because he is. There’s an undercurrent of distress, fuelled by how badly he wants to touch Steve now, and Steve must sense it, because he brings both his hands up. One lands on his shoulder while the other hesitates in the space where Bucky’s other arm should be before flexing nervously and reaching instead for Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s nerves light up under Steve’s hands, his body responding to the contact despite all his uncertainties, despite the fact he knows they’ve always at least had this easy way about them, these casual touches if nothing else. 

“Can’t remember what?” Steve asks with such earnesty, his big blue eyes locked on Bucky’s, all that attention like there’s nothing but the two of them in this moment, in this place. Bucky steels himself against what might happen and makes himself say it. 

“Steve, did we… are we... ?” Bucky’s hand flails in the small space between them like it somehow explains all that Bucky’s still struggling to put into words. Steve’s grip on him tightens almost imperceptibly, his pale complexion gets flushed.

“Are we what? Buck, do you– ya mean…?” It feels like Steve gets what Bucky is trying to say, but his similar floundering with words isn’t reassuring.  Bucky’s heart pounds furiously in his chest. He feels himself start to sweat.    
  
“There’s stuff I remember, but it– I can’t tell if… I’m remembering shit that actually happened or goddamn dreams, and it– it’s driving me crazy, I gotta know. If– if we–” 

Bucky closes his eyes as he grabs at Steve’s chest, fingers digging into the material of his sweatshirt. Steve makes a half-strangled sound but doesn’t let go, doesn’t move at all.   
  
“ _ Steve _ .” Bucky’s tone is pleading, he can’t help it. He needs Steve to get it, needs him to be the one to say it.  _ What if he’s wrong what if they’re not what if what if what if _ –    
  
Bucky doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t want to see if Steve’s looking at him the wrong way right now, but if the words are going to fail him and this is the only chance– he leans in and tilts his chin and catches Steve’s gaping mouth in a kiss. It’s quick, scared, and Bucky pulls back just as fast, his breathing ragged from everything it took to do it and the briefest taste of his best friend. 

“ _ Bucky _ ,” Steve gets out, husky, like a curse. Startled.  _ Desperate _ , just enough that Bucky’s eyes fly open, only to be faced with an equal intensity in Steve’s, wide and dark.   
  
“N-No,” Steve chokes out, and Bucky’s heart might as well fucking stop, expect Steve hasn’t let him go, hasn’t begun to move away. “No, we never. I mean, before– we didn’t– it wasn’t–”    
  
He mumbles something about  _ normal _ and shrugs as his words lose their last shred of coherency, but then he shakes himself out of it and steps  _ closer _ to Bucky, so they’re properly chest to chest now, but for Bucky’s hand clinging to the front of Steve’s sweatshirt.    
  
“But I– Bucky, I  _ wanted _ – was so damn scared– to even hope– but you–” Steve raises one shaky hand from Bucky’s shoulder and then his trembling fingers are tentatively touching Bucky’s cheek. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath as Steve continues, incredulous. “You wanted, too?”   
  
Steve asks and it’s so small, still scared, like Bucky didn’t just kiss him at the risk of everything.

Bucky is only a fraction shorter than Steve now, and this close together their noses are nearly brushing when Bucky starts to nod.    
  
“Yeah, Stevie, I wanted,” he breathes out, relieved. “Still want. Don’t know how to want anything but you, ya dumb punk.”   
  
The laugh tacked on the end is a little delirious with the admission, knowing finally that’s what this is, that this is happening but it’s for the first time, truly. Steve’s palm properly cups his face now, and Steve echoes his laugh with one of his own, dropping his forehead to Bucky’s.   
  
“Jerk,” he huffs out, like it’s still habit after all these years, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus, Buck–”    
  
Then he’s cutting himself off and kissing Bucky again, anything but quick and scared. It’s hard and hungry and Bucky makes a startled sound before he deepens it, reaching out with his tongue to really taste, and now Steve is moaning into it and that might be the best thing Bucky’s ever heard. Steve’s kiss lacks finesse of any kind, all heart, and it reminds Bucky of how he used to fight, before when he was small and didn’t really know how, though that never slowed him down, never kept him from swinging even though he never stood a chance, and then all of a sudden it hits him–    
  
He breaks their kiss on a gasp, though Steve chases his mouth blindly a moment before giving up to breathe heavily between them.    
  
“Steve,” Bucky pants out, and his stomach does somersaults even as he gets the words together. “Stevie, have you– this isn’t your– I mean, you and Peggy, right? That– that was a thing?”   
  
There’s a flare of jealousy, hot and hurty even as he says it with Steve’s spit drying on his lips, just to think of Steve with someone else even if it was a million years ago, even someone as worthy as Agent Carter.    
  
Steve looks suddenly stricken, eyes wide and cheeks getting impossibly redder by the second. 

“I–” he splutters, then bristles, brows knitting together all serious as he tries to shove down embarrassment Bucky’s seen before but not for  _ this _ . “ _ Bucky. _ ”   
  
His tone is almost accusing as he continues, his posture defensive. “It was a goddamn  _ war _ . We– we kissed, okay, but– when exactly do you think I woulda– and you– I mean,  _ Christ _ , I was still in lo–”   


Steve really does look like he’s swallowed his tongue now, his defensive rant cut short abruptly, the unsaid syllable is left hanging between them clear as if he’d said it –  _ I was still in love with you  _ – and now it’s Bucky’s turn to look stunned. His head is spinning, heart like thunder ringing in his ears, that Steve really hasn’t– and that he–   
  
“Shit,  _ Stevie _ –” Bucky curses and doesn’t let Steve sweat it long, instead grabbing his face with his own callused fingers and kisses him. Bucky takes control of it now, deliberate as he can manage considering how badly he wants to  _ devour _ Steve in this moment. Steve opens up wide for him, lets him in, doesn’t shy away from touching Bucky’s tongue with his own as his hands both find a way to Bucky’s waist, holding onto him fiercely.    
  
Steve whimpers as Bucky sucks his lower lip into his mouth, then nips at it gently. Steve’s hands tug at his hips and Bucky doesn’t want to be standing anymore, doesn’t want to be  _ outside _ , where anyone could come down the hill and see them, where one of the kids might stumble upon any number of the completely inappropriate things Bucky wants to do to Steve right now.    
  
Only because he knows he must, and because he hopes it’s going to get him so much more and  _ soon _ , Bucky breaks their kiss again. This time, Steve drops his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder, turning his face into Bucky’s neck while he catches his breath, his back heaving with the effort.   
  
Bucky is breathing hard, too, and he wraps his arm around Steve’s jerking shoulders as if to tuck him in. It’s so much like embraces he knows from before, even if Steve is too big to fit like he used to, even if Bucky is down an arm, and that feeling of  _ home _ washes over him once more, warm and calm and easier than anything he’s felt since stepping out of cryo. It might be 2016 but for just a heartbeat under the setting Wakandan sun, Bucky is back in Brooklyn,  _ their _ Brooklyn. He closes his eyes to hold onto the feeling, holds onto Steve, and just revels in it.    
  
“Steve, baby,” he breathes, barely above a whisper, because he wants to so bad, wants to call Steve all the sweetest things he never got to before, that he wasted on women he only wished were Steve instead. “Babydoll.” 

“ _ Buck _ ,” Steve pulls back at that, and Bucky is almost embarrassed until he sees the pretty pink in Steve’s cheeks, the hint of a smile on his bright, kiss-bruised lips.    
  
“Yeah?” Bucky asks, hopeful. “That okay?”   
  
Steve is nodding quickly, before he finally manages to answer, voice rough. “Yeah. Yeah, it– it’s more than okay.”   
  
“Thank fuck,” Bucky lets out a relieved laugh, and Steve startles just enough to start laughing, too. They’re still holding onto one another even though Steve is standing tall in front of him again, Bucky’s hand on Steve’s arm, Steve’s hands light on Bucky’s hips.    
  
“Let’s get inside, Stevie, I gotta– we gotta–”   
  
“Not out here, yeah, I hear ya. Lead the way, Buck,” Steve lets go of his waist then but Bucky slides his hand down the length of Steve’s arm, slips his fingers between Steve’s without a second thought.    
  
“C’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky urges, easy as anything, and Steve smiles back at him as he follows, that big, stupid, dopey grin that still makes Bucky’s heart dance behind his ribs all these many decades later. 


	4. Chapter 4

Steve feels almost delirious as he follows Bucky into his hut, holding his hand, the taste of him still wet on his lips. It doesn’t feel real, like every dream he’s ever wished for come true. Bucky’s hand is warm and rough in his own, and Steve holds a little tighter just because he can, and he’s afraid he might fly away without Bucky to anchor him if he doesn’t.   
  
“Welcome to my, uh, humble abode,” Bucky chuckles as he approaches the curtain, his arm twitching as if to move to open it but then getting stuck not wanting to let Steve go. Steve reaches forward with his free hand to pull the curtain aside, then steps in when Bucky nods for him to do so. He shrugs off his backpack and lets it rest at his feet once they’re inside.

It’s sparsely furnished but warm and comfortable, woven rugs on the floor, a few simple, round cushions to sit on, and a large bed, the mattress on the floor, covered in a mess of brightly dyed linens. In a strange kind of contrast, there’s a simple table, low to the ground to accommodate the use of the cushion as a seat, and on it is a smart phone, some files on the Winter Soldier, and a couple of notebooks. There’s a large chest at the foot of the bed, and while sun does filter through part of curtain-covered window – there’s one on both the east and west sides – there’s a lamp on the table which emits a gentle, even glow that illuminates the entire hut. It’s at once so rural but also technologically advanced in that subtle, seamless manner that Steve knows to be the way of Wakanda and its people. 

It’s understated and welcoming and Steve smiles as he takes it in, glad to imagine Bucky’s been living here, somewhere quiet and private and as different from everything HYDRA as possible. 

“It ain’t much, but,” Bucky starts, lifting their clasped hands as if to gesture to the room.    
  
“It’s great,” Steve says sincerely, turning to face him. 

“It is, yeah,” he agrees with another chuckle. “It’s been… exactly what I needed, I think, after the princess fixed me up.” 

Steve’s interest must show on his face, because Bucky grins outright now. He tilts his head towards the bed and leads Steve to sit down on it.

“She really did it, Steve,” Bucky says, shaking his head. Steve holds their hands on his lap as he listens, tries not to let the weight and promise of them distract him. “Somehow, she took me out of it– out of the memories. I still remember everything, at least, I think I could if I wanted to– if I thought about it– but it’s like… it’s like I’m remembering something I heard about that happened to someone else. I don’t see it through my own eyes anymore, my own hands…” 

He takes a deep breath and Steve’s heart tightens in his chest, hurts for Bucky and everything he’s been through, all that crushing guilt. “Bucky…” 

“Nah, Stevie, it’s okay, really. I don’t… it’s not like I remember feeling. When we were together before, chasing Zemo? And you had to go an’ fight all your friends like the big dumb lug you are– no, don’t argue, alright– I could barely keep my head up. I was drowning in it, and worse, ‘cause you wouldn’t stop lookin’ at me like– like  _ that, _ right there. Like I wasn’t the piece of shit who did all that stuff–  _ not a word, Rogers _ ! The point I’m tryin’ to make is that what Shuri did… it worked. I don’t… he wasn’t me. I don’t feel like… it was me. Not anymore. I’m not  _ afraid  _ anymore.”   
  
“Bucky,” Steve isn’t sure what to say. He’s overwhelmed. He swallows thickly, blinks fast to keep it together as if Bucky isn’t watching him anyway, doesn’t see right through him. He sniffs, and pulls Bucky’s hand to his mouth, presses his knuckles to his lips, and then whispers, a little more wetly than he’d like to admit, “What were you afraid of?”   
  
Bucky huffs out a harsh laugh that reveals he’s handling all this about as well as Steve is. “Hurting people, Steve. God, hurting you. More. Again, whatever. Any of it. All of it. But I won’t. Steve, I won’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. Ever again. It’s just me. It’s  _ me _ .”

Bucky’s laughter is genuine, elated and honest and awed, a little bit of everything Steve is feeling, too. It’s surreal and incredible and a gift for which Steve will never be able to express adequate gratitude. 

“It’s really you, Buck,” he echoes, a confirmation, because it’s true, and because it feels like exactly what Bucky wants to hear.

“It’s me,” Bucky says again, eyes glistening even as his features are softer and more carefree than Steve can remember having seen them since even the war began, a black cloud over their lives that cast even the best moments into shadow. 

“And you,” Steve can hardly believe it still, even as they sit here with their legs touching and their hands on Steve’s thigh. “You really want me?”

Bucky’s focus on him is at once soft and serious. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t. Steve, I think–  _ fuck _ .”   
  
He laughs, looks away a moment, shakes it off, brings his gaze back to Steve’s. “I don’t  _ know _ a lot, in that there ain’t a lot I’m sure of, but– I  _ love  _ you. Always have.”

Steve’s experienced a lot in his too long, disjointed life that perhaps defies words, but in this moment Steve is truly speechless, not for lack of what to say in return, but the sheer stunning force of it all. In all the years he’s known Bucky, he’s been in love with him more than he hasn’t, and back then it– it was so damn hard – suffocating – felt like dying every day keeping it to himself, not being able to say, not daring to ever think that Bucky might feel the same. In this moment Steve knows, beyond a doubt, that going forward, nothing is going to be the same. His life has always been for Bucky if nothing else, and now– now, it really can be.

He swallows hard, thick, and everything is watery.

“Buck,” he splutters, blinking. “I can’t believe– you’re  _ here _ . I get to tell you this, after all this time. After thinking you–”  _ were dead. _ Steve chokes on the words, gives himself a ragged breath to get past them. “I love you, too.  _ God _ , Bucky, I love you so much.”    
  
He reaches for Bucky’s face and kisses him, way past hesitating now that this happening, they’ve said that, they’re  _ here _ . Bucky’s lips against his own are a spark and Steve is on fire in the next moment.

Steve is maybe a little overeager, and the force of him tips Bucky back so that it breaks their kiss when Bucky loses his balance and has to grab hard at Steve’s sweatshirt on a laugh.    
  
“Easy there, tiger,” Bucky chuckles, and Steve feels his cheeks burn even though Bucky’s eyes are fond.    
  
“Sorry,” he mumbles, letting go of Bucky with unsure hands.    
  
“Hey, none of that,” Bucky shifts beside him on the bed, gets a knee onto the mattress and tips Steve’s face up to kiss him again, gentle even for the firm press of his fingers on Steve’s chin. “It’s all good, babydoll.”   
  
Bucky gets a leg between Steve’s where he sits at the edge of the bed, the other still dipping the mattress as he straddles Steve’s thigh. He pulls off Steve’s mouth with a wet sound before nipping at his lips, then moves to kiss at his neck. Steve’s hands flit awkwardly because he wants to touch Bucky everywhere but he’s just not sure– 

“Baby, please,” Bucky murmurs against the skin under Steve’s ear. “You’re killin’ me. Want those big hands ‘a yours all over me, Stevie.” 

“ _ Buck, _ ” Steve says it like a curse or a prayer, with what little breath he can spare, and grabs at him with renewed fervor. Bucky is solid under his palms, all muscle that Steve can feel move as he slides his hands up and down his back, just because he can. Bucky laughs against his throat, and Steve might be self-conscious except for how beautiful a sound it is. 

“That’s it, honey,” Bucky doesn’t let up, his one hand holding tight onto Steve’s shoulder while he sucks at Steve’s pulse, and Steve is so hard already his head might be spinning. He slides one hand all the way up to thread in the mess of Bucky’s long hair, and Bucky hums as his grip tightens. 

Steve feels the vibration of it echo in his core. He’s completely broken open, a near-century of wanting flooding his veins, making him tremble and ache and it can never be enough, he could never, ever get enough of this. The fist he has in Bucky’s hair tugs with an uncontrollable desperation that’s leaving Steve in pieces, but Bucky groans for it, wrecked and needy, only the hottest thing Steve’s ever heard, making Steve’s cock throb against the tight trap of his jeans. 

“Buck–  _ Bucky _ –  _ please _ ,” Steve babbles, already too far gone to give a damn how he sounds, doesn’t know what he’s asking for and doesn’t care, just knows he needs more of Bucky and he needs it  _ now _ .

“God, Stevie, yeah, need it bad don’tcha baby,” Bucky murmurs along his throat, kissing his way back to Steve’s mouth. “Me, too. Me, too, sweetheart.”   
  
Bucky kisses him again and Steve gives as much as he takes, matches Bucky’s movements, the deep, hungry push of his tongue, they way he sucks at his lips, each drag of teeth until they’re both panting and Steve’s sure he’s left bruises in the shape of his fingers on Bucky’s waist for how hard he’s holding onto him. 

“ _ Stevie _ , baby,  _ yeah _ ,” Bucky breathes against Steve’s open mouth. “ _ Christ _ , I gotta– gonna need you to lay back now, a’right?”   
  
Steve is already nodding as he eases up on his grip, letting Bucky go so they can part long enough for Steve to move. He kicks off his shoes and shuffles back on the bed, all while Bucky watches, on knee still on the mattress while the other foot is still on the ground. Steve can’t take his eyes off him, not even when he lifts a shaky hand to remove his cap and toss it aside, then runs the other through his hair once to smooth and and shake it out a little.

Bucky doesn’t stop looking either, not even as he stands to step out of his sandals, then without any hesitation, reaches to start unwrapping the robes he wears, tied at the shoulder and waist. Steve swallows hard, his stomach swooping in anticipation. Even with just one arm, Bucky is graceful as he does this, meanwhile Steve can’t stop the tremor in his whole body that makes him that much more clumsy as he unzips his hoodie and shrugs out of it, one arm momentarily stuck, and Bucky can only grin and laugh as he struggles out of it. 

He takes his attention away from Bucky only as long as it takes to extricate himself from the frustrating cotton, then pull his white t-shirt up over his head to join the growing pile on the floor, but when he looks up again he has to suck in a breath. 

Bucky is kneeing his way onto the bed, somehow already naked except for the soft, black fabric cap T’Challa had made to fit over the damaged metal of Bucky’s stump after their fight with Tony. He’s seen Bucky naked before, okay, they were roommates and Steve went to Bucky’s gym for a boxing lesson once or twice back in the day but it’s never been  _ for _ him, and Bucky’s never been on such display, letting Steve look, and his dick has never been–  _ Jesus Christ _ , right there, full and hard– 

“God, Buck, look atcha,” Steve barely gets out, awed, and shaky as the rest of him as he lets his eyes linger on Bucky’s cock, big, thick, and cut, shiny at the tip. Then Bucky’s fingers are wrapping around it, lazily moving back and forth, and Steve’s own cock aches, throbbing in time to the rabbit-fast racing of his heart at the sight. 

“Uh huh,” Bucky brushes him off, but his smile and the pink in his cheeks tells Steve he hears him, loud and clear. “Says you,  _ Christ _ . Stevie, your  _ tits _ .”

Steve makes a choked off noise, feels his blush spread down his chest and fights the impulse to cover himself up, not sure what to do as he Bucky keeps talking, stalking closer one knee at a time, straddling his thighs now, Steve all but squirming underneath him and his heated gaze.

“Better’n any dame I ever saw, hand to God.” He lets go of himself and reaches out to place a reverent finger to Steve’s skin, dragging it along the swell of Steve’s pec. “The  _ things _ I wanna do to you.”

His fingertip circles Steve’s nipple, which immediately pebbles up at the touch, making Steve shiver from head to toe and sets loose a tiny sound somewhere between a gasp and whimper. Bucky’s eyes flick up to his own, wide as his mouth parts in a grin. “Yeah?”   
  
Steve is nodding again, a little frantic for how good it feels, even just that little tease. “ _ Yeah _ .”

  
Bucky rolls the hard nub of Steve’s nipple between his fingers and Steve starts, groaning, his hands flying to Bucky’s hips for something to steady himself with. Steve feels himself getting wet inside briefs, leaking as Bucky pinches and pulls, the sensation seemingly hardwired to his dick. His hips twitch with the next tug, and he throws his head back against the pillow, his back arching as if to offer his chest to Bucky all the more readily. 

“Fuck _ , _ if you could see yourself right now, Rogers.  _ Goddamn _ ,” Bucky curses, then his hand is gone and his hips push back out of Steve’s hold. Before Steve can settle back down or start to whine at the loss, there’s a dip at his side where Bucky’s fist is in the mattress and Bucky’s ducking down to take Steve’s other nipple into his mouth. 

“ _ Oh s-shit, B-Buck! _ ” Steve’s hands fly to Bucky’s head, just holding on as his nipple gets pinched and rolled between Bucky’s teeth. Bucky smiles against his skin a moment before starting to suck, and  _ Jesus Christ Almighty _ he’s never– it feels  _ so fucking good _ –   
  
Steve can barely get any words out at all, in between broken sounds he can’t be bothered to be embarrassed by, but he needs  _ something–  _

“ _ Bucky _ , Buck, please, oh God,  _ please _ , please. I– I need–  _ Buck _ –!” Steve nearly sobs as his body rolls, torn between pressing up into Bucky’s mouth and desperately chasing any friction between his legs.   
  
“You beg so pretty, baby,” Bucky eases up enough to say between kisses to Steve’s chest. “I got you, sweetheart, I got you.”   
  
He sits back on Steve’s thighs, his head slipping out of Steve’s trembling hands, but his hand is making quick work of Steve’s button and fly.    
  
“Oh,  _ Buck _ ,” Steve whines, mindless, his hands dropping to clutch at Bucky’s naked knees.   
  
“I got you,” Bucky says again, pulling open Steve’s jeans and reaching in to wrap his fingers –  _ finally, finally _ – around Steve’s cock. 

Steve groans, completely out of control as Bucky’s hand tightens around him, pulling him out of his underwear. 

“Steve,  _ Jesus _ ,” Bucky curses, hand moving up and down almost lazily while he looks at him with unmasked appreciation. “ _ Baby. _ ” 

Steve’s hips shudder, aborted thrusts up into the pull of Bucky’s hand, movement limited by Bucky sitting on his legs, naturally straining against the weight though he could toss him off if he really wanted to and they both know it.   
  
“That serum was good to you all fucking over, huh?” Bucky whistles, long and low, playing with Steve’s foreskin a little.   
  
“ _ Bucky, _ ” Steve moans, for Bucky’s praise, the tease of his still too-light touch, and the promise of release that’s so, so close. He’s practically writhing on the bed, and one of his hands skitters up his own stomach towards his own chest while the other digs into Bucky’s legs all the more tightly, but Steve hesitates, just enough and– 

“Fuck yeah, touch yourself, babydoll, lemme see,” Bucky encourages him, getting a better hold of his dick, starting into a rhythm as Steve’s fumbling fingers squeeze his own nipple. It– it’s not as good as when it was Bucky, but–  _ Christ _ – was he always this sensitive? Steve honestly doesn’t recall, doesn’t think so, but Bucky’s watching him do it, and that’s the next best thing right now. He’ll do anything damn thing that makes Bucky look at him like  _ that _ .

“Feel good, honey?” Bucky asks, husky, the pace of his hand picking up as Steve nods, breathless. “Stevie, you close?”   
  
Steve moans, wanton, and keeps nodding, keeps roughly cupping his own chest. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Bucky starts to work him with that goal now obviously in mind. “Look so fucking pretty, Steve, I can’t hardly handle the sight of you right now, come on, come on, give it up for me, sweetheart, that’s it–”   
  
Steve cries out when it hits him, the force of a goddamn freight train, unable to breathe for one long moment as his vision whites out and he spills over Bucky’s fist, feels the splashes of it up his own stomach. It just keeps coming, even as Bucky slows his hand, eases up his grip, and Steve shudders, gasping Bucky’s name. 

“ _ Steve, _ Jesus,” Bucky exhales, milking him through it,  _ finally _ squeezing out the last drops and smearing them gently over the head of Steve’s cock with his thumb. “ _ Jesus _ .”   


Steve takes in great gulps of air as he comes down, able to breathe again, and when his eyes find their focus, they go right past the sight of his dick where Bucky still loosely holds it to Bucky’s own straining cock behind it. 

“Steve–”   
  
“Bucky, I gotta– been wanting to touch you my whole fucking life–”   
  
He feels so good in Steve’s hand after all this time that they’re groaning together, practically in harmony as Steve starts to jack him, eyes on Bucky’s face. 

Bucky lets go of Steve gently and wraps his come-covered hand around Steve’s on his cock, getting it sloppy and easing the way. The head of his dick pops through their combined fist on each downstroke and Steve is hypnotized watching it. If he was starting to soften at all that’s definitely not the case anymore, his dick twitching against the mess on his stomach. 

“S-Shit,  _ Steve _ , God, you– fuck, you feel good, don’t–” Bucky groans, eyes fluttering, teeth sinking into his swollen bottom lip, and he lets go to brace himself with a hand on Steve’s stomach, uncaring of the spunk starting to get tacky there. “Don’t stop.”   
  
“Jesus, Buck, not gonna stop,” Steve exhales, propping himself up on his on elbow to get better leverage and a better view. “Never wanna stop touching you, now that I finally can.”   
  
Bucky moans and Steve doesn’t let up, liking the sight of Bucky’s dick in his hand but loving the sight of Bucky’s face like this, slack with pleasure, mouth parted and lips bitten-red, his hair a goddamn mess from Steve’s hands, loose strands sticking out every which way and to his glistening forehead–  _ Christ _ , what a picture he makes. 

“Steve, baby,” Bucky chokes out, and Steve leans up further, has to be closer, lips pressed gently to Bucky’s open mouth to catch every sound. 

“I’m– gonna–  _ Steve! _ ” Bucky grunts out Steve’s name, fingernails digging into the skin of Steve’s abdomen as he comes, and Steve swears he feels it like an echo, beside himself at how Bucky looks in this moment, better than anything he could have ever dreamt up. Steve kisses him through it, sloppy at first, and as his hand slows and Bucky’s finished, Bucky slowly starts kissing him back. 

“Steve,” Bucky sighs, breaking the kiss but keeping their foreheads together, rolling them a little, then nuzzling in, their beards rubbing and catching together. It tickles but not enough to be squirmy, just nice, and Steve is sighing, too. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, and Bucky lets out a breathy chuckle before kissing him once again. 

“Lemme clean you up, pal,” he says, gentle, like he used to a lifetime ago after Steve had gotten himself all banged up. It makes Steve feel warm in a different way, familiar and reminding him that while everything has changed, nothing has changed. Bucky kisses him, quick, sets those butterflies aflutter just like that, and then starts to step off him. 

“Take those off, will ya? I ain’t letting you anywhere that needs ‘em any time soon,” Bucky chuckles as he goes for a cloth, dunking it in a basin of water and then ringing it out. 

“Oh, you ain’t lettin’ me?” Steve raises an eyebrow as he starts to shimmy out of his pants and underwear. “Is that how it is, Sergeant?” 

Bucky snorts, dropping next to Steve on the bed and folding the damp cloth in his hands. “I dunno,  _ Captain _ , is that how it is? You tell me, you got somewhere else you wanna be?”

He’s all Bucky in this moment,  _ Steve’s _ Bucky, bravado and charm and sass, and Steve will never leave him again if he can help it. “Hell no, Buck. You’re stuck with me. End of line, that’s where we’re going.”

Bucky’s soft smile breaks into a blinding grin as he shakes his head like he can’t believe it. Steve gets it.

“End of the line,” Bucky repeats in a whisper as he starts cleaning Steve up, and Steve starts to comb back some of Bucky’s hair, tucking it behind his ears and sliding out the tie that’s barely holding anything back at this point. 

Bucky finishes wiping him up and turns that gentle gaze his way again just in time for Steve to cup his face and pull him in for another kiss, unhurried and easy like now that they’re here they have all the time in the universe. 

“Have I mentioned that I love you?” Steve says against his mouth, and Bucky laughs again, big and beautiful.

“Yeah, punk. Ya did,” he rolls his eyes dramatically as he stands up to toss the cloth in a hamper, but when he turns back to Steve his face only makes Steve want to say it again. And again, and again– just because he can. Jesus Christ, he really can. 

“Well, it’s true, so,” Steve shrugs, and Bucky is shaking his head at the show of it. He climbs back on the bed and pulls Steve down to the pillow with him, tugs him in close, and before he knows it, Steve’s head is tucked under Bucky’s chin in a position that echoes one they’ve been in before, before they knew they shouldn’t, or maybe even then despite it. Steve is much too big, much bigger than he was before the war and even more so than when they were children, but it feels so good, so safe, that as Steve brings his knees up to tangle their legs together, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist to hug him close, Steve’s eyes start to water and he has to bite back a sob. 

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says, obviously startled by the sudden ferocity of Steve’s grip and the heave of his shoulders. “Stevie, hey, baby, no. God, you– gotta know I love you. I feel like a fool, all the– them dames were never– never held a candle to you, sweetheart. I’d’ve taken ‘em all back if I’d’a known I could’a had you instead–”   
  
Steve shakes his head, but can only bury his face further against Bucky’s chest, willing Bucky to understand that’s not it, because he’s not sure what he’ll say if he open his mouth, everything hitting him at once, everything he’s been tamping down inside, not sure how to deal with, not sure who could understand, how he was supposed to really live again– not Captain America, he’s easy, a shield for the world and for Steve Rogers behind it – but as  _ himself _ , the reality of having lost Bucky, saying bye to Peggy because he couldn’t live in a world without his best friend, only to be woken up without him 70 years later anyway, completely out of place and fighting aliens of all fucking things– 

“Bucky,” Steve sobs, and as he succumbs to the tidal wave, he’s glad that seems all he can manage at the moment, clinging to Bucky and letting it out, completely at the mercy of finally, against every impossibility, being home again. 

“Oh, Steve, shh, shh, baby, I got you. S’okay, s’okay, God, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs against the top of his head, clinging right back. 

Steve gets a little lost for a while then, he’s not sure how long. He cries harder than he has in his whole life, even after his Ma died, last vestiges of control all but gone as he surrenders to the place Bucky makes for him. Bucky holds him tight without question, whispering his name and other sweet things all the while, until Steve blinks his eyes open and the hut is darker, lit only by the glow from the Wakandan lamp on the table which tells him the sun outside has gone down.

“Buck–?” Steve scrambles as he wakes all the way up, but Bucky’s right there, laying right next to him, legs still tangled up and his palm warm and reassuring on his stomach.

“Hey, hey, sleepin’ beauty,” Bucky teases, but it doesn’t quite veil the mix of concern and relief on his face as Steve’s eyes find his.

“I– what hap– shit, Buck, I’m–”   
  
“Rogers, don’t you dare,” Bucky interrupts him, bringing his hand to Steve’s face and pressing a finger to his lips. 

Steve sighs against it, shaky, and brings his own hand up to hold it, kissing the pad of Bucky’s finger, and then his knuckles as he relaxes his hand in Steve’s hold. 

“Steve,” Bucky says after a long moment, voice gentle but commanding Steve’s attention and answer, giving him no way out. Steve looks at him and swallows. “Do they know? Does  _ anybody _ know?”   
  
Bucky’s cool gray-blue eyes are piercing, pinning Steve in place, inescapable. Steve thinks hard, he really does… but he doesn’t think so. He’s never– he’s not close to them like that, even Nat, even though he’s starting to think she would listen, not even Sam, even though he  _ knows _ he would, because– well, who can possibly relate? And even–  _ even if _ – Steve’s been too afraid to step out from behind the shield, the facade that keeps him together. Being with Bucky again, being with Bucky likes  _ this _ , it’s the first time the hope he can put the pieces of himself back together has been greater than the fear that keeps him ignoring them altogether, something that has never ever occurred to Steve before.

He shakes his head and swears he can see Bucky’s heart break in his eyes. It makes him shut his own before they can well up again. 

Bucky rolls on top of him while his eyes are still closed, their legs still slotted together even as Steve parts his to make room for Bucky, their naked, soft bodies touching– Steve gasps, just a tiny intake of breath, and his eyes flutter open to stare right into Bucky’s. 

“I know now, okay?” His elbow is in the bed outside Steve’s arm and his hand runs through Steve’s hair. Steve nods, but his eyes close as Bucky’s hand keeps pulling at his strands and he tilts his head as if to chase the sensation, so good Steve practically wants to purr. 

“Steve, I’m serious. I know now. You don’t hide anymore. Not with me. Say it.”   
  
He stills his hand in Steve’s hair, as if the tone of his voice wasn’t unavoidable enough, and Steve takes a deep breath, looks into the eyes of the man who had his back even when he had nothing, took care of him when he was sick or got his ass kicked– so, basically always, if Steve is being painfully honest. This is him, that same man, and it’s the only reason Steve–  _ he’s _ the only reason Steve feels  _ alive _ right now, or has at all, truly, since thawing out. Not a goddamn thing has changed in this, not since the thirties, and Steve thanks God for this genuine second chance. 

“Okay, Buck. Not gonna hide from you,” Steve agrees softly, a promise. Bucky nods once, strokes Steve’s hair again, apparently satisfied. 

“Okay.” He dips down and kisses Steve then, pauses, nuzzling their noses together again, which makes Steve smile against his mouth, the gentle prickle of his beard catching his lips. “You okay? Right now, I mean?”   
  
“God, Bucky,” Steve laughs, sliding his hands down the muscular expanse of Bucky’s back, resting on the curve on his ass. “Better than.”

Bucky’s smiles slyly, and it looks like pure trouble. “Yeah? You sure about that, pal?”

“Real damn sure,” Steve assures him with two firm handfuls of his butt, dragging Bucky against him as he rolls his hips up to rub them together, making Bucky groan.    


“I dunno, Rogers,” Bucky argues, voice dropping low as he presses up a little on his knees, forearm braced in the bed, then moves his hips under Steve’s hands, rubbing them together again, both of them getting harder by the second. “I think you could be  _ more _ sure.”   
  
He speaks the words directly into Steve’s ear, lips moving on his skin as he punctatues them with another sharp roll of his hips, and now it’s Steve groaning because  _ goddamn _ Bucky feels good next to him, that steely length, velvety soft skin against his own, he could never have imagined– 

“ _ Buck,  _ uh,  _ uh, uh, _ ” Steve’s words fail him, the garbled mess of Bucky’s name devolving into small sounds punched out of him with each hard push of Bucky’s hips, and Steve just digs his fingers into the flesh of Bucky’s backside and holds on. 

“Uh huh, yeah, that’s more like it, honey,” Bucky bites the skin under Steve’s ear and Steve can only toss his head aside on the pillow to give Bucky more room. “You’re sure now, ain’t ya? I’m sure, Steve, can you feel it? You feel me, sweetheart?”

Bucky huffs with the effort of it all, panting against Steve’s throat, but he doesn’t let up in the slightest. They’re wet between them now, some combination of precome from them both smeared on their bellies and down their lengths, and Steve’s toes curl as he changes the angle of his hips..   
  


“God, Bucky, baby, yeah, I feel you,  _ I feel you– _ ” Steve keens as Bucky continues his assault, the thrust of his hips unrelenting and his teeth on Steve’s neck giving way to soft kisses and then the hard suck of his mouth. 

It’s overwhelming, each sensation, being pinned under Bucky like this, the heavy, comforting weight of him, the scratch of his beard on Steve’s chest, the bruise blooming under Bucky’s lips, the scent of them, the flex of Bucky’s muscles under his hands– he’s never been this close to another human being in all his life and being this close to Bucky is the nearest thing to being intoxicated that Steve has experienced since the serum took that away. 

“Buck,  _ Jesus _ , I–” Steve gasps as Bucky pulls of his neck with a filthy, wet sound, the skin covered in his spit and achey in a way Steve never thought could make his dick twitch like that. He feels Bucky’s smile against him as their bodies jostle with the force of Bucky’s movements, and suddenly it’s right there, starting to catch. 

Steve groans Bucky’s name, long and drawn out, and he pulls at Bucky’s hips now, egging him on all the more, begging him with his body.

“Yeah? Shit, me too, Steve, come on then,” Bucky gets out, breathy and desperate. 

Steve can feel it building, his body going taut as it approaches, eyes forced shut on the promise of the pleasure, and he wants Bucky to be with him. He moves a hand fast, frantic, up the sweat-slick expanse of Bucky’s back, and tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck with a tight fist.

“Aw,  _ fuck _ –” Bucky hisses at the first tug, then bites out the curse like he’s been punched in the gut. In the next moment Steve swears he can feel Bucky’s cock get even harder before shuddering against him, everything suddenly that much warmer and wetter as he comes. 

Steve doesn’t let their rhythm break, keeps moving Bucky’s hips in time with the rough push-pull of his hands, which are surely imprinted in Barnes’ ass at this point, and it feels startlingly good to think of Bucky marked up like that, by Steve, like– like he’s  _ Steve’s _ – ‘cause Steve did that, Bucky let him– 

“ _ Uh, Buck! _ ” Steve grunts out when he starts to come, too, just as Bucky’s body starts to get heavier on top of him, Bucky’s movement more now from Steve’s hands than anything else. Steve curls up into the weight of it, Bucky’s face tucked into his neck and his own mouth at Bucky’s shoulder, his teeth grazing at Bucky’s scarred skin at the edge of the metal base of his missing arm. Steve is still pulling Bucky’s head back by the hair so it’s not quite resting on the pillow and Bucky whines, reedy and sated while Steve keeps spilling between them.

When it’s over, Steve sighs and relaxes completely, melting into the bed and letting go of Bucky where’s he’s holding him so tight, too tight, flexing his fingers of the hand that was on Bucky’s ass and gently unweaving his fingers from Bucky’s hair. 

Bucky is boneless above him, humming as he lays his head down next to Steve’s, apparently in no hurry to move despite the mess that will certainly stick them together if they stay here, not that Steve cares about that either. 

When his heart rate is back to normal, he gently rubs his hands up and down Bucky’s back, featherlight, and Bucky hums again, shifting to lift his head just enough to kiss at Steve’s ear, and then down to his neck, extra gentle on the bruise that’s already surely fading away.

They’re quiet a while and it’s comfortable, just being close and the only sounds their steady breaths and beating hearts. 

“Stevie.”   
  
Steve blinks when Bucky whispers his name, looks up into his eyes, smiling down at him. 

“I’m gonna clean us up before we spend all night glued together, a’right? And I’ll get the light. Sit tight, honey.”   
  
Steve didn’t even realize he had started to drift off, again, but he wakes up more fully as Bucky lifts off of him, the pull of their dried and tacky come not exactly pleasant. He watches Bucky repeats the motions of earlier, grabbing two cloths this time, one which he uses on himself first, and then the other for him. Steve sighs and relaxes as Bucky presses the damp cotton to his skin, cleaning him thoroughly before reaching for the lamp, turning it off with a simple press of his hand.

Steve reaches for Bucky when he gets back to the bed, hands smoothing over his body wherever he can reach as he settles next to him again, then finds his lips for a kiss.

“Mhm,” Bucky smiles as he pulls back. “Bedtime, you big lug.”   
  
Steve raises an eyebrow but starts to yawn before he answers, undermining himself completely. “You givin’ the orders here now, Barnes?”

“Damn right I am, Steve, look atcha,” Bucky chuckles, pulling the blankets up around them. “Captain Sleepy is more like it. Not the first time I’ve tucked you in, pal, not gonna be the last.”

Steve snorts at the bad joke but he’s already fading, feeling warm with the memories Bucky brings to mind, and he moves languidly to settle at Bucky’s side, close enough to still breathe him in. 

“Whatever you say, Buck,” Steve slurs, a little nonsensically, and then it’s Bucky’s turn to snort, shaking his head with a quiet laugh.

Steve shuts his eyes as Bucky presses a kiss to his forehead, then drifts off without another coherent thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky wakes and it’s bizarre, the dream he leaves, already vague and forgotten, is nothing compared to the reality beside him, a dream actually come true.

Steve’s breathing is slow and barely audible in his sleep, though his chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm that Bucky watches in awe. He’s sat at Steve’s bedside countless times, been kept up with worry and the sound of his strained, wheezing breaths, not knowing if Steve will make it til the morning and now– it’s a goddamn marvel, is what it is. Bucky will never take it for granted, the strong, thunder of Steve’s enhanced heart under his palm, the easy, painless way his lungs fill and empty– maybe the only thing he wanted more than Steve all to himself and now he has _both_.

He happily lays alongside Steve as long his bladder allows, the warm light of the risen sun outside making the hut glow with the echo of it through the nearly impermeable walls. Steve doesn’t stir when Bucky stealthily untangles himself from his heavy limbs, and he sleeps still when Bucky returns, fresh from a quick wash in the lake, his hair tamed with the comb of his fingers and pulled back into a low bun. He stands at the foot of the bed, considers the man before him, the man Steve has become, those long blonde locks and the beard he never could have grown before the war– not without the serum, Bucky’s willing to bet – the man who, last night, fell apart in his arms like he’s never seen him do before, even when Sarah–

He shakes his head. It’s just like Steve, to have these friends and still keep it all to himself, never wanting to impose, to ask for help– Christ, Bucky’s been on him about that their whole lives, and Steve only ever gave a little, and only then, with Bucky. He’s got a new body in a new century but he’s still that same guy on the inside, stubborn as all hell and fighting the good fight for everyone except himself. Well, Bucky’s here now, and he’ll keep on him if he’s got to, anything Steve needs–

There’s a muffled buzz and Bucky narrows his eyes. Another buzz, and then another, and by now Bucky’s sure it’s Steve’s cell phone, buried in a pocket of his jeans where they lay discarded on the floor. He digs the device out and doesn’t snoop, but it buzzes in his hand again, the screen lighting up to display _Texts received: Nat (6)_.

 _Romanov_ , his brain supplies, and Bucky tenses. He knows her, or, well, the Soldier did. Flashes of memories, her body through the scope of his rifle, and his stomach knots, the taste of bile rises in his throat. He decides to put the phone down, screen to the table, and takes a deep breath, pushing it away. He can wait to unpack all that another day.

He sits down next to Steve on the bed instead, and Steve makes a soft sound as he turns toward him, still asleep but moving into the dip the mattress makes. Bucky can’t resist how beautiful he is, reaching to smooth his hair back, delighted for how Steve hums, tilting his head into Bucky’s hand, and then opens his eyes.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Bucky beams at him, then shrugs. “Or afternoon, but still.”  
  
“Afternoon, Buck– really? What time is it?” Steve sits up, looking confused, and Bucky leans in to kiss the furrow in his brow.

“Just about one.”  
  
“Oh my God,” Steve blinks again, shakes his head. “I don’t…”  
  
He trails off and Bucky considers him, thinks about everything he’s seen in just this past day. “Steve?”  
  
His tone asks enough, he knows, because Steve looks guilty when he meets his eyes next.

“I don’t really, uh. I–” he laughs, brings a hand up to push through his hair in that telltale way of his. “Probably haven’t slept this much since they thawed me out.”  
  
He shrugs as if it’s not the big deal he knows Bucky wants to make of it, leaving Bucky to wrestle with the need to chide him but also hold him close and not ever let him go.

“Steve,” he starts, but Steve brushes him off.

“It’s good, Buck. I’m fine. Especially now, I mean, ‘cause– well,” his cheeks get pink as he looks at him, adorable and smitten just so that Bucky lets him off the hook– this time.

“Yeah, yeah, go on. Lay it on thick, why don’tcha.”  
  
“Why, is it workin’?” Steve grins, even bats his damn lashes at him. What a punk.

“For now,” Bucky concedes, still warning, but leans in to kiss him. Steve’s mouth is sleep-sour and Bucky couldn’t care less, letting Steve deepen the kiss however he wants, until their mouths taste the same.

Steve’s phone buzzes on the table but Steve either doesn’t hear it – unlikey – or just doesn’t care, his hands moving on Bucky, one at his waist and the other cupping his face. Bucky would happily let Steve explore his whole body with those hands, but the phone buzzes again.

“Steve–” Bucky says into the kiss. “Your phone.”

“Forget about it,” Steve presses on, and Bucky grins even as he kisses back a moment before pushing at Steve’s chest.

“It’s been going all day,” Bucky insists, leaning back when Steve chases his mouth.

Steve groans dramatically and drops his head to Bucky’s shoulder. It makes Bucky laugh, and he brings his hand up to cup the back of Steve’s head, fingers playing with his hair since he seems to like it so much. Bucky likes it, too.

Suddenly, there are three gentle knocks on the wall of the hut just outside the door. Steve startles much more than Bucky, his enhanced hearing no doubt meaning it’s been a long while since someone was able to sneak up on him like that, but Bucky knows what the silent footsteps mean, the only person they could possibly belong to.

“T’Challa,” he mouths soundlessly to Steve, patting his shoulder reassuringly. He nods at Steve’s clothing as he stands up and Steve moves to get dressed, military quick, while Bucky goes to the door.  

Bucky watches as Steve finishes buttoning his pants and pulls his shirt over his head, then pulls back the curtain to reveal Wakanda’s king standing in the doorway with an apologetic smile.

“Please forgive the intrusion,” he speaks gently with a subtle nod to first Bucky, and then Steve as he comes to stand just behind him. “But the Black Widow has reached out to me.”  
  
Bucky would say I told you so, because that news is hardly a surprise to him, but he simply turns to look at Steve and lets his expression say it instead. Steve almost imperceptibly narrows his eyes back at him, and when they both turn back to T’Challa, the king’s sly smile reveals he hasn’t missed a thing.

“It would appear that it is crucial you return at once with the Quinjet,” he continues with a hint of amusement. “I did press her as to the nature of the emergency and she replied ‘Tony is about to lose his goddamn mind.’”  
  
Steve winces and Bucky sighs, giving Steve another look. “Didn’t exactly ask to take it, did you?”  
  
“I… did not ask to take it, no,” Steve admits, not nearly sheepish enough as far as Bucky’s concerned, considering the tentative footing with Tony following everything that’s happened with Bucky already.

T’Challa chuckles. “May I inform Ms. Romanov that you will be departing shortly?”  
  
Bucky can feel how Steve tenses at his side, and after a second of Steve’s obvious hesitation, he jumps in. “If you wouldn’t mind, thank you.”  
  
“Bucky–” Steve turns to him immediately but Bucky is ready, placing his hand on Steve’s chest to stop him.

“I will leave you to get ready,” T’Challa nods once more to them both, soft expression knowing in a way that makes Bucky wonder exactly how _much_ the perceptive king sees, then he steps back gracefully and walks away.

They watch him disappear up the hill, all the while Steve’s anxious energy tangible in the air around them and under Bucky’s fingertips where they rest still on Steve’s chest. As soon as T’Challa’s out of ear shot–

“Steve–”  
  
“Bucky, I just got here! We’re finally–”  
  
Bucky knows that if he lets him get worked up, it’s only going to make this more difficult. He cuts Steve off with a kiss, and while Steve bristles against him for a moment, he does finally melt into it, all of that fight bleeding out of him as if Bucky could really take it all away.  
  
“Stevie, you think I don’t know?” Bucky finally murmurs against his mouth, once he’s satisfied Steve is calm. “You think I could I really want you to leave, now when we’re just– _finally_ here?”  
  
Steve shakes his head without moving from the space they’re sharing, foreheads together, noses bumping.  
  
“I don’t, I promise. But you’ve fought your friends enough for me. I’m not going anywhere. I’m safe here, sweetheart. I’ll be waiting for you. You’ll come back. This ain’t really goodbye, baby. Just… see you later, a’right?”  
  
Steve’s hand tightens around Bucky’s wrist, and Bucky feels Steve’s jaw tense against his palm, can track Steve’s internal battle in each subtle tick, knows he’s won when Steve kisses him again, hard and hungry and desperately trying to communicate how unhappy he is to go, and that he’ll absolutely be back. Message received.

Steve pants against Bucky’s lips when he’s satisfied, that grip on Bucky’s wrist easing up, his fingers sliding up to cup Bucky’s hand to his face. He leans into it, and Bucky revels in the warmth and weight of it, solid and real, against all the odds.

“I’ll be back,” Steve asserts, voice rough, as much for himself as for Bucky.

“Of course you will,” Bucky reassures him.

“Soon,” Steve says, finally pulling back just enough to look Bucky right in the eyes. “Whatever Tony says.”  
  
He lets go of Bucky’s hand only to reach for Bucky’s face with both of his own, and now it’s Bucky’s turn to hold onto Steve’s arm, breath catching in his chest at the intensity of Steve’s gaze. “I’ve spent way too much of my life without you already, Buck. Not anymore.”

Bucky’s heart flutters at Steve’s words, and how can he argue with that? He knows exactly how Steve feels. He nods, Steve’s thumbs moving over his cheeks, and then Steve nods, too, leaning in to kiss him again. Bucky gives into this one, lets the way Steve make him want take over, taking control of the kiss so Steve knows without any doubt that he doesn’t want this any more than Steve does, even though it’s the right thing to do. It threatens to get really heated after a moment, Bucky’s blood pumping faster, turning into need that will certainly delay Steve’s departure. Steve makes small, broken sounds into Bucky’s mouth that tell him he’s no better off, and someone has to do something about it or whatever resolve they had is going to dissipate entirely.

Bucky breaks the kiss on a gasp, firmly pushing Steve away just enough to give them a little room to breathe.

“Stevie,” he huffs, pleading.

“I know,” Steve answers, reluctant but understanding.

“You gotta go, sugar. Sooner you leave, sooner you’ll be back.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Steve grouses, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Bucky watches as he turns away to grab his backpack, shoving his phone into his pocket – without looking at Natasha’s messages, Bucky notes. He supposes she did get was she wanted, after all.

Steve hesitates in front of him with nothing left to keep him, and Bucky leans in to kiss the corner of his mouth, chaste, safe. Well, saf _er_.

Steve sighs. “Not goodbye. Just… see you later.”  
  
“Damn right, Rogers. Sergeant's orders,” Bucky winks, trying to lighten the mood. Steve does crack a smile, and rolls his eyes.

“I don’t think it works that way, Buck…” he muses, his grin sly. "After all, I am a captain."

“Uh huh, well, we’ll see about that, _captain_ ,” Bucky teases. “Now get outta here with that ugly mug, will ya? Don’t get up to anything too stupid til you get back.”  
  
Steve barks out a real laugh at that. “Not possible.” Then, gentler, “You’ve got all the stupid with you.”  
  
Bucky is warm and soft, fond at the echo of memory, how natural it feels to be like this, with Steve. He’s known that he’s himself again ever since Shuri fixed him up but this– _this_ is really it, really him, really _them_.

Steve starts to walk away, not taking his eyes off Bucky until he’s started up the hill. Bucky watches from his doorway as Steve gets farther away, and waves when Steve turns around to do the same, right before disappearing from view.

The next breath he lets out is shaky. Alone again.  
  
Not that anything else is the same, not since Steve walked back into his life and gave him that clarity. Bucky smiles, despite Steve’s absence, and goes back inside. His own cell phone is sitting on his bedside table, and it buzzes as his eyes find it, as if on cue.

He goes over to check it and grins.  
  
_Steve: Miss me yet? ;)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and maybe even might stick around. Comments and kudos are love ❤️


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